The Third Theirin
by Kyla Baines
Summary: Sebastian Vael is the handsome youngest son of the ruling family of Starkhaven, and has fallen into and out of more beds than he can count. When he meets a mysterious woman with secrets of her own, he thinks he has finally found his happily-ever-after. Fate seems to have other ideas. Told in vignettes, primarily from Sebastian's POV with other characters scattered in.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Third Theirin

**Cast:** OC!Kierrai Theirin, Sebastian, and many others from both DA:O and DA:II.

**Summary:** Spirited away from the Ferelden capital at a young age, the third Theirin child is trained in the art of politics in the event that Cailan cannot rule. Longing for freedom, she gets her chance to spread her wings in a way she had never foreseen before.

**A/N:** This is what I would call a fanfiction of a fanfiction. The original that inspired me to write this is called **"The Other Alternative" **by **kaysue18**, and I am writing this with her express permission! I have decided to write this from Kierrai Theirin's POV in the first couple of chapters, and from there, it will be mostly from Sebastian's. The plot after the first couple of the chapters will largely follow "The Other Alternative," but will have other little tidbits thrown in of my own. Though this can be read independently, I would definitely suggest you take a look at the original inspiration for this story. I hope you enjoy my take on it! -Kyla

* * *

**Prologue**

_It was a cool day in the northern reaches of Ferelden, and the many species of trees were just starting to transform into their colorful autumn coats. Birds and squirrels began to chatter and chirp their indignation as a dark, horse-drawn carriage rumbled down the Imperial Highway from the east. A small hand reached for the heavy, velvet curtains in an attempt to reveal the splendor of this unfamiliar area of the country, but was hastily pulled back, hiding the occupants from prying eyes once again._

_At long last, and after nearly a week of fast travel by horse, the carriage arrived at its final destination: Highever. They travelers were allowed through the massive exterior gates, and Castle Cousland was revealed. The young girl who sat inside of the gilded prison that she had been confined to since they left Denerim squirmed impatiently, anxious to see this new place. For the first years of her life she had been shunted from castle to castle, never with any prior notice, and never having been integrated as a member of a family. For the past year she had been in Waking Sea, where Bann Alfstanna had cared for her in a kind, yet detached way. When an outbreak of an unknown sickness hit the area, the girl had been sent back to Denerim with no forewarning to her. She had not been told where she was going this time, either._

_Bryce and Eleanor Cousland walked down to meet the carriage, their own two children in tow. Their son, Fergus, stood straight and tall next to his father, his dark hair waving in the breeze and his face alight with excitement. At a glance from his Bryce, the twelve-year-old boy adopted a serious expression, akin to his father's – he knew that, as the eldest son of the teyrn, he was expected to exude confidence and capability even from an early age. Fergus' sister, Zeriah, was seven years of age, and hung behind her mother's skirts bashfully, her black hair styled carefully into two braids and her green eyes wide with curiosity. Her parents hadn't been able to fully explain what all of the excitement was about. _

_At long last, one of the men from Denerim opened the door of the carriage, and Sister Bernice stepped out, holding a hand out. A small one was placed into it, and a gangly girl of six stepped out, looking around with excitement._

"_My lord, my lady," said the Chantry sister, greeting Bryce and Eleanor in turn, "this is Kierrai Theirin."_

_Kierrai flashed a smile at Zeriah, her wavy auburn hair in complete disarray and her travel cloak hanging loosely from one hand and trailing in the dirt. The young girl was carefree, wild, and ready for a new adventure. She had no idea that she had been sent to the Couslands for a specific purpose – to be trained in the arts of politics by a noble family in the event that her older half-brother, Cailan, was unable to take the Ferelden throne. _

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Twelve years later…_

"Young lady, are you paying _any_ attention to me?"

Aldous' voice hinted at more than a little irritation, and Kierrai sighed as she tore her gaze from the window. Her long legs were crossed underneath the table, and her brown hair was loosely braided back, several strands gleaming red in the sunlight that streamed through the window. Several wispy strands had escaped from their confines and emphasized her large, chocolate eyes and the scattered freckles across her nose and cheeks. Zeriah had, typically, finished her lessons early, and was now using her free time to practice sparring with some of the house knights. Kierrai longed to get her hands on her own weapons, but was instead confined to the stuffy and smelly study with old Aldous.

"Now, I believe that before your attention wandered, we were discussing Landsmeets," wheezed Aldous. "Please recite what you know concerning these highly important events."

Kierrai groaned. "Why does this even matter? It's not like Cailan's going anywhere soon… he just took the crown! And it's not sodding likely that someone will off him, seeing as he's Ferelden's golden child…"

"Do watch your language, my dear!" Aldous' indignation at her less than lady-like speech had been a battle between the two of them for years.

"Well, it's true," she mumbled back. Kierrai had been brought up by the Couslands as their own child, and, as the lesser-known daughter of the late king Maric, they had been instructed to teach her all she would ever need should the ruling of Ferelden fall to her. She felt like the cast-out backup plan of a nation, and the rebellious side of her longed for nothing more than to live a more exciting life, perhaps like the knights of old in battles that Aldous somehow managed to portray as dull.

When she had been younger, Kierrai had tried to run away on more than one occasion, but when she had been gone for nearly four days before being found, she returned to find Zeriah in tears over her disappearance. It was clear that the Couslands loved her, and she had never been able to convince herself to leave them again after that incident. While she and Zeriah were extremely different, they had been inseparable growing up: Zeriah was the calm, collected, and responsible one, while Kierrai was impulsive, hot-headed, and full of mischief. Kierrai had often joked to her adopted sister that it should be _her_ in line for the throne – however, while Zeriah loved adventure, she was as duty-bound as her brother and was content to stay at home and spar only when she had the time.

"Kierrai?" This time, it was Zeriah's soft, musical voice that broke through her reverie.

"Zeri! Please tell me you're here to save me from the inane political ramblings I am forced to endure!" Kierrai fell to her knees dramatically, clasping her hands in front of her. She chose to ignore the sniff of disapproval from Aldous at her behavior.

"Though I think you really ought to pay more attention, Sister, I have been asked to bring you up to the great hall." Zeriah spoke, and her face betrayed nothing. She had grown into a beautiful young woman – with her short stature, fine bone structure, and startlingly green eyes to complement her raven hair, Kierrai often thought that she looked akin to an elf. Standing well over a head taller, Kierrai often felt ungainly next to the lithe noblewoman.

"Oh? Well, pray lead on!" Kierrai replied, jumping to her feet and eager to be away from the confines of the library.

As the two strode towards the door, Kierrai just smiled and threw a salute when Aldous shouted after her to come back and finish her studies later that evening.

"So, Zeri, what exactly is going on? Mind you, I'm not complaining since I was dying to get away from Aldous."

"Father hasn't told me specifically," Zeriah began. There was a tightness to lips, though, that Kierrai rarely saw. "I have a feeling that it can't be anything good."

Swallowing hard, Kierrai forced a smile. "Oh, I'm sure he's just kicking up a fuss since, once again, you're proving to be the far more responsible one than I am."

"Perhaps." Zeriah didn't sound particularly convinced.

As the girls approached the small side entrance to the great hall, they heard muffled voices from inside that were clearly arguing. Kierrai shrugged, and pushed the door open – the voices fell silent immediately. As soon as she had looked around, Kierrai could tell that there was something wrong. Bryce Cousland's usually smiling face was uncharacteristically stern, and he appeared as upset as she had ever seen him. There was an armed man standing next to the Bryce, the green and white sunburst of Denerim emblazoned on his shield. He clutched his helm tightly under one arm, and by his red face, it was clear that he had been the one arguing with the teyrn.

"Zeriah, Kierrai." The girls looked at one another with eyebrows raised as Bryce greeted them – surely there was dire news indeed if Zeri's father was calling them both by their given names, rather than the pet ones he preferred. "I am afraid that I have rather… unsettling… news. Kierrai," he turned to the taller girl to address her, "there is no point in delaying the news further, my dear. We have just received word from Denerim that you are to be sent to Amaranthine. Teyrn Loghain and his advisors seem to believe that you have not learned enough from us here, and have decided that you will finish your education with the Howes." Bryce's cold and detatched tone clearly showed that he did not agree with this decision.

Zeriah found her voice before Kierrai. "What? No, Father! Kierrai can't leave us! She's family!" Her vehement protests filled Kierrai's heart with hope and love, and she turned to her father-figure eagerly.

Bryce sighted, running his hands through dark hair that was just beginning to show hints of grey at his temples. "I'm afraid that it isn't my choice, Pup. We were told to instruct Kierrai until the time came that she was required to learn from others. As the heir apparent to the throne, she is now required to learn what she can from the other teyrnirs and arlings as the capital sees fit."

"Please, Father… no! This is my home, now!" Kierrai protested. She struggled to hold back the tears that were growing – she hadn't cried since she was a child, and she vowed that she wouldn't start now. "I swear that I'll study harder with Aldous… I'll do whatever it takes! I'll even give up my sparring to work harder, as long as I can stay here! Surely there are books here on the other parts of Ferelden? I can learn everything I need to know from those!" She knew that she was begging, but couldn't bring herself to stop. Highever had become her home, and the Couslands her family – she refused to give up without a fight.

Bryce's gray eyes were dull with pain. "I am so sorry, Kierrai. Know that I have tried my best to get Teyrn Loghain to change his mind. Amaranthine isn't far, though, and we are friends of the Howes. I am sure that we will see each other often."

Kierrai could hardly breathe – she wasn't sure if her sadness or anger was greater. She couldn't believe that a man across the country could be controlling her life in this way. Without another word, she stormed out of the hall, pain and fury blazing in her brown eyes. In her haste to leave, she missed the small nod that the teyrn gave to Zeriah before she left as well.

* * *

Zeriah finally found Kierrai in the old armory, resolutely throwing small knives into a wooden dummy that had become riddled with holes from the exercise. She shut the door softly behind her after checking to make sure she hadn't been followed.

"Kierrai," she whispered. "Please listen to me, you don't have much time."

The brunette dropped the knife she had been holding to the ground before she rounded on her friend. All of the anger from moments before had been replaced by fear. "Zeri… I can't go! I _hate_ the Howes… it would be awful there!"

Zeriah's eyes hardened in the dim light of the building. "I know. You aren't going."

Kierrai choked out a laugh. "You heard Father! I have to go… I don't have any other options! Even if I hide here, I'll be found and you will all be punished."

"Father spoke with me earlier. None of us want you to leave, but you have to for your sake and ours. You do have to leave, Kierrai, but we refuse to let you go to the Howes… Father's had doubts about his old _friend_ as of late." Zeriah's voice was quiet, but hard with purpose. "Here's what you need to do…"

Kierrai listened, rapt with attention as Zeriah outlined the plan. She had doubts that it would work as smoothly as Zeriah had explained it, but knew it was better than nothing. After repeating every detail back to Zeriah, they both walked quickly back to their bedrooms.

As the Couslands had predicted, the men from Denerim posted one of their own outside of Kierrai's door at all times to make sure she didn't try to escape before they left for Amaranthine in the morning. Instead, she tamped down her pride and adopted a subdued and meek expression whenever she saw him. In the privacy of her room, though, she secretly slipped the two onyx daggers that Bryce had given her on her sixteenth nameday in her traveling bag, along with a skin of ale and several pouches of herbs that Zeriah had snuck from the infirmary inconspicuously labeled as "tea."

She slept little that night, and was awoken by Eleanor early. She dressed quickly, pulling on her dark green, woolen traveling cloak last, and was escorted to the hall where the Couslands had all assembled to bid her farewell. Zeriah had tears streaming down her face, and Kierrai nearly broke down as well – though she would not be going to Amaranthine as was planned, she knew there was little chance of her seeing the only family she had ever known for a long time. She embraced each of them in turn, whispering her thanks fervently to Bryce in particular.

As the guards led her to a horse, she mounted and looked back one last time at the castle, vowing that she would somehow make it back again someday to thank them all. She gave herself a shake as she and the three men from Denerim moved out, knowing she needed to stay aware of her surroundings and appear as submissive as possible.

* * *

That evening they made camp in a dense patch of forest that Kierrai knew well. She remembered exploring this area with Fergus and Zeriah only a few years ago – they had thrown the entire household into a state of panic for being gone so long, and eventually being found so far away from the castle, but Bryce and Eleanor never could stay angry with their children for long. Kierrai smiled as memories of her adventures with Fergus and Zeri flooded back.

Dinner was a quiet affair, and Kierrai struggled to keep herself calm – she was certain that her heartbeats could be heard from miles away.

"Girl, it's time for you to get to your tent – we've got an early start again in the morning," barked one of the men.

Swallowing hard, she spoke in the sweetest voice she could muster. "Please, ser, I always have herbal tea before I go to bed. May I use some of the water that's left over? I swear that I'll go straight to bed after that."

"Fine. Just be quick about it. Might as well make me and the boys some as well… the rations we was given are pretty stale now, and we could do with a pick-me-up," he scowled.

"Oh, certainly," said Kierrai, trying hard to sound as innocent as possible. "If you would prefer, I also have some of my father's favorite ale that he packed – I'm not very partial to it, though."

"If you ain't gonna drink it, we'll sure take it off your hands," said the man, his companions grunting in agreement.

Kierrai walked slowly to her pack, praying that her guards weren't watching her too closely. She pulled out the skin containing the ale, and quickly poured the contents of one pouch of herbs in. She swirled it slowly as she walked back to the fire, handing it to the men. She slowly went about heating up some water as if to make herself tea, and watched with satisfaction as the ale was passed around and drained in a matter of minutes. Within another hour, all three men were unconscious and sprawled out on the ground – it looked to the casual observer that they were merely victims to a rough night of drinking. Kierrai knew the drug to be a combination of deathroot and valerian, that, in the right proportions, caused a deep and dreamless sleep that lasted for nearly half a day.

Kierrai ran to retrieve her pack, and shouldering it, jogged for about half an hour back towards Highever before she took action. She took off the cloak she had been wearing all day, and tore it in half before roughly slashing it several more times with her dagger for good measure. She took a small jar from her pack that contained pig's blood, and smeared it along the ragged cuts she had made. Tossing the ruined cloak on the ground, she smiled grimly at her handiwork.

She turned around, and began to travel steadily north towards the Waking Sea where the ship that Bryce Cousland had arranged to take her in secret to the Free Marches was docked. She hoped that the soldiers would act as predictably as the Couslands had said they would, and travel south back to Highever, assuming that she would return to the area she knew. If they did, her ruined cloak would be found and taken to Highever – because of her political importance, they would no doubt call for a mage to verify that it was actually her blood, but by that time, she would be far beyond their reach.

Traveling quickly through the forest, Kierrai thought of the good people she was leaving behind, and hoped that she would see them once again. For the first time in many years, a single tear escaped her eye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_Sebastian_

"Where are you going?"

Sebastian rolled his brilliantly blue eyes as he buttoned his shirt, his fingers fumbling for the clasps in the dim room. The simpering voice of his latest conquest grated and resonated in his head, and the smell of cheap perfume and liquor exacerbated the relentless pounding in his head. "Where, pray tell, does it _look_ like I'm going, woman?"

"Don't you want to stay for a while longer?" As her voice trailed off, Sebastian heard the soft rustling of old and inexpensive bedding, and the sound of bare feet padding closer to him, causing the wooden floorboards to creak in protest. A soft hand touched the back of his neck and trailed around to his front, along with the rest of the body it belonged to.

Sebastian raised his eyes to survey the woman standing in front of him. She was completely nude, and she ran one hand down his chest to stop him from continuing to dress as she shamelessly caressed one of her impressive breasts with the other. Her blonde hair was thin and hung in a tangled, limp mess down to her shoulders. Her skin was creamy, and she had illustrated very enthusiastically that evening how capable she was in the art of love.

Sebastian had both seen better and _had_ better.

"Why would I want to stay longer?" he drawled, pushing her hand out of the way and continuing to dress, ignoring the pout that appeared on her full lips at his words.

"I could think of a few things we could do…" She lowered her head and looked at him coyly from underneath her long eyelashes. She had – as was the fashion in Starkhaven – a ridiculous amount of make-up plastered on her face. Deep red rouge had worn into a pillow where Sebastian had pressed her down, and dark kohl thickly lined her eyes. It disgusted him the lengths women would go to trying to get a man with coin into their bed. They didn't seem to realize that he, for one, would take a tumble with any of them – regardless of their looks – providing they were skilled.

He sighed. "Listen, you've already done what I paid you to do, and the money has been left with the madam… what else do you want to do? Talk?"

He pulled on his boots and whirled around to walk out of the room, raking a calloused hand through his auburn hair. He had come to the grungy brothel in an unsavory area of town to drink and forget his resentment in a stranger's embrace – he ended up drinking an entire bottle of Antivan brandy and stumbling into bed so drunk that he had barely been able to perform. He had passed out for a couple of hours, woken up, and taken the whore one more time, leaving her panting and screaming the fake name he'd given her.

Bitter resentment coursed through his veins like poison, accompanied by a wild streak of rebellion as he stalked through the narrow streets of lower Starkhaven. His parents had made it abundantly clear – time and again – that he was a meaningless pawn in their political games. He would have left long ago had it not been for the love of his grandfather.

For years, Sebastian had channeled his sadness and pain into archery, fast becoming the best shot in not only the entire family, but also the Royal Guard. Whenever he was ignored, led on, or chastised, Sebastian had run to the practice fields and lost himself to the smell of his oiled bow, the tension of the corded string, the feel of the bristled fletching on each arrow, and the sweet ache that shooting left in his arms, back, and legs.

After a time, though, archery had not been enough to sate the desire for closeness that Sebastian so craved. He turned to women. As he progressed from fumbling boy to jaded lover, his skills behind closed doors began to rival his skills with a bow. Hushed whispers of his prowess were passed from woman to woman, though few were lucky enough to land him for more than one night.

Sebastian tried to fill the aching hole in his heart with meaningless flings, eventually convincing himself that it could work – _would_ work.

As he moved progressively closer to the massive castle that the Vaels called home, Sebastian took to the shadows to avoid detection by the guards his father always posted – years of being caught outside the walls after dark had caused him to learn the subtle arts of stealth. Despite his height and broad shoulders, Sebastian was agile as his sister's cat and could move just as quietly. He hugged the bottom of the wall, moving quietly from tree to tree, occasionally glancing up to make sure he hadn't been detected. He had no desire to hear his father's lecture about duty and responsibility this night. Finally, he made it to one of the back doors that opened up near the kitchens. He kept the aged hinges well-greased for occasions like this.

Slipping inside, Sebastian closed the door softly behind him and began the trek to his room. The beauty of the interior of the castle was lost on him as the made his way through the familiar corridors, occasionally darting into a closet or extra room when he heard servants walking nearby. There were plush red carpets that lined each hallway, emblazoned with the crest of the Vaels on each end in black. Fresh flowers were placed in ornate vases that stood on mahogany end tables that lined the corridors at even intervals. The aromas of daisies, lilies, carnations, and baby's breath rose in a pungent perfume to assail Sebastian's nostrils. His lips curled down in a frown – the symbolism of the flowers of purity and faith was not lost on him.

He entered his chambers and bolted the door behind him. With a sigh, he began to peel off his tunic and change into nightclothes. He threw his boots carelessly to the side of his closet, ignoring the cloud of dust that flew up and the small clods of dirt that fell to the floor. He flopped to the bed, his mind racing. A small part of him that he had tucked away whispered incessantly. It prodded him to remember the love that his parents surely must have for him, to practice the values of honor, bravery, and duty that his grandfather had instilled in him, and to recall the friends he had abandoned when he turned to drink and women for solace. Faces and memories swam in his head, but fled as he grunted in frustration and pressed his pillow over his face.

Duty and honor? Oh yes, he knew plenty of those – his father had never wasted any time informing him that he was an embarrassment next to his two older brothers who embodied both virtues.

Friends? He no longer needed them.

Love. It did not exist, except in falsely woven tales for the simple minded and weak of heart. Love was for fairytales.

* * *

_Kierrai_

The air was damp and saline and the putrid scent of fish and seaweed clung to each rotting beam in the tiny room that Kierrai had been confined to for the journey by sea. White-capped waves lapped against the side of the boat and reached up to crash against the dingy window of her room. The novelty of marine travel had worn off quickly, as the deep waters became increasingly violent. She retched into the bucket that she clung to with both arms, the ragged blanket around her shoulders doing little to warm her from the biting chill of the moist air. Her face was pale, causing her freckles to stand out in stark relief but for the small red spots on each cheek from the cold.

_I am _never_ traveling by boat again._

She had been so consumed with misery and seasickness that the harsh pain of leaving Highever had been left numb in comparison. As soon as she had stepped onto the small watercraft, she had vowed to herself that she would be strong for the sake of the Couslands – they had risked everything to get her out of Ferelden, and she would be _damned_ if she let them down in return. She would use the money that Bryce had given her to find somewhere to live and someone to tutor her – she would even try to pay attention. Pushing aside the memories that were too painful to think of yet, she forced herself to focus on the task that was in front of her.

Her stomach now settled to a point where she could set the bucket down without much worry, Kierrai fumbled on the roughly hewn desk for the map Zeriah had stowed in her pack. She traced the hastily scribbled route with one finger. She tried to remember what Aldous had taught her of the Free Marches, and cursed herself for paying so little attention. Who knew that the dry information he spewed at her in the stuffy library would actually have such a practical application one day? She vaguely remembered him speaking of Kirkwall as one of the main ports in the Free Marches – it was, in fact, where the vessel was going to be landing the next day. She suspected that there was a fairly high concentration of Fereldens that visited the coastal city. The Couslands, in fact, had known several of the nobility who resided in Kirkwall.

_Definitely not the place I want to be, then. Being recognized is the last thing I need – especially when I'm pretending to be dead!_

Her eyes wandered the map, realizing that there wasn't much of interest. Avoiding the cities along the coast would probably be the wisest course of action, and her eyes traveled further north. Hasmal, Tantervale, Starkhaven… she hadn't even _heard_ of most of these places! She shrugged, realizing that it probably didn't matter much where she went. She threw the map carelessly back on the desk, where one edge hung precariously over the side. She flopped back on the hard bed and looked wistfully at the ceiling, battling a fresh wave of nausea.

Struck with a sudden idea, she grabbed a handful of small pebbles that had accumulated in the corner of the dingy room. She moved the map closer to the center of the desk, and turned around.

She lobbed each of the stones carefully over her shoulder, hearing a serious of five _thuds_ as each hit the desk. Walking back to the map, she looked over it, deciding that the stone that landed the closest to an inland city would indicate her goal. The first two stones hadn't even hit the map. The third had landed somewhere in the middle of the Waking Sea, so that was out. The fourth and fifth, however, had landed squarely in the brownish-green area that indicated land. One of them had landed to the east of a dot that had been labeled "Ansberg," and the other was just south of the slightly larger dot labeled "Starkhaven."

Ansberg appeared to be clear across the country from Kirkwall, and it was a good distance north of the Minanter River. It would clearly be a difficult journey either way, but Kierrai'd had enough of traveling by water, and the river looked extremely wide. The way it had been drawn in the map made it seem as though it were an enormous, dark blue scar that slashed its way across the country. No, river travel was definitely out. Her eyes were drawn west again to see the city that was north of the Vimmark Mountains. Crossing that range would certainly be no easy feat, but she supposed there must be a main road that connected the city to Kirkwall. She'd rest for a few days in Kirkwall, ask some questions, and then be on her way.

Starkhaven it was.

* * *

**A/N**: _This is a bit better indication of how this story will be written. It will use mostly vignettes, and at this point the majority of them will be from Sebastian's perspective. There will definitely be others thrown in at certain points, including Zeriah, Alistair, Loghain, and Kierrai (though not quite as much from her, as you've already gotten a good part of her perspective from __**kaysue18**__). I thank her again for allowing me to play around in her universe. Special thanks to her, __**Jaden Anderson, Artwo.D2, and Kira Tamarion**__ for their reviews and encouragement to keep going with this story! Please let me know what you think so far :-D -Kyla_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_Hello dear readers! I'm so sorry about the long wait for this chapter – I've found myself a bit overwhelmed with my other two stories and real life as of late! I hope that you enjoy this latest installment! I promise that there is much more excitement coming in the next few chapters!_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_Kierrai_

As soon as she was off of that wretched boat, Kierrai wandered away from the docks in search of a place to stock up on provisions before she headed north – by her estimates, the journey on foot would take just shy of a week if she made good time. Though her map showed what appeared to be a major road – likely akin to her homeland's Imperial Highway – that led to Starkhaven, Kierrai had no intention of risking being seen on a main thoroughfare such as that.

_Really, it's a pity that I'm being so cautious, since the main road would probably reduce the journey to three or four days._

After walking up a set of stone steps, Kierrai emerged into an enormous courtyard. There were huge pillars that encased the entire area, and each was adorned with a larger-than-life bronze statue. Looking closer, Kierrai was appalled to see that they were human in form, but most were emaciated and contorted into such grotesque positions that they barely passed for human. Their metallic ribcages stood out in stark relief, and those with visible faces showed crudely rendered emotions ranging from hopelessness to agony.

Seeing a small plaque on one of the pillars, Kierrai read with morbid fascination of Kirkwall's grisly history: from the oppression of the slaves during the occupation by the Tevinter Imperium, to the current encasement of the mages in the Circle, Kirkwall had clearly seen its fair share of upheaval through the ages.

Tearing herself away, Kierrai wandered over to one of the heavily-armored templars stationed outside of the fortress that served as Kirkwall's Circle of Magi.

"Excuse me, miss, but what are you doing, milling about in the Gallows? Get along home, now." His voice echoed from behind the plumed helmet that he wore, and his tone implied gave her the impression that he was perturbed that anyone _dare_ have the audacity to stand around with no purpose on his watch.

Kierrai grinned and batted her lashes before firing off a flippant retort. "Oh, I'm not from around here, and am just on my way through town and figured I'd do a little sightseeing at the Circle while I'm here. I've heard seeing the mages is ever so exciting!"

Her declaration was met with stunned silence, and with a roll of her eyes, she amended, "No, Ser Witless. Of course I'm not just traipsing through. I thought you might have an idea where I can get some supplies before I'm on my merry way." With a hand on her hip and an arched eyebrow, she waited for a reply.

"You could try some of the merchants in Hightown or Lowtown." His reply was flat, and gave no indication that he had recognized being openly insulted.

"And Hightown and Lowtown might be…?" Waving her hands in confusion, Kierrai wondered if all templars were as completely devoid of common sense as this one. Honestly, did he expect her to just _know_ where these places were? Hadn't she just told him she wasn't from Kirkwall?

A gauntleted hand rose, pointing to a spot behind and to the left of Kierrai. "Lowtown is accessible from the docks, and Hightown is just past that."

Kierrai jumped up and down in mock admiration, clapping her hands. "Oh, thank you _so_ much, ser! You've been _ever_ so helpful!"

When no response was given, she shook her head and sauntered off in search of merchants. The further away from the docks she got, the less potent the sharp odor of fish entrails became. As she walked on a steady incline, she cast her eyes up, noting that the city was built on a hill, with the most prominent buildings at the top level. She nodded to herself, realizing that this made perfect sense from a defensive standpoint – might as well wear out the enemies before they have to fight the guards in the innermost district.

Just as her legs began to ache from the long climb, the ground leveled out into a small, dirt courtyard that held the occasional plank of wood, hinting at the presence of some sort of walkway that was long since buried underneath the filth on the ground. As she walked through this decrepit area that could only be Lowtown, she eventually heard a growing cacophony. Rounding a corner, she saw exactly what she was looking for: a small area that served as a ramshackle marketplace was crowded with merchants plying their wares and civilians bartering for better prices. The ramshackle stalls consisted mainly of barrels with planks of wood thrown across them to serve as the stands, and hastily thrown together awnings erected over them with what appeared to be old bedding or even torn flags.

Wading her way into the sea of bodies, Kierrai pushed her way through until she found a small shop that looked promising. She bought several pounds of cured meat and unleavened bread, and filled her pack the rest of the way with the least rotten of the apples that the vendor had in stock. Moving to the next stall down, Kierrai also made the decision to sell the cloak that Zeriah had given her to travel in, and traded it for a slightly ragged – but equally warm – brown cloak that she hoped would make her even harder to recognize when the hood was drawn. The dark, forest green and good quality wool of Zeriah's practically screamed nobility.

Weaving her way back through the crowds, Kierrai found the gates that led to the northern road to Starkhaven. As soon as she had disappeared out of sight of Kirkwall, she glanced around to make sure that no one else was on the road before slipping into the sparse pine forests that lined the eastern side of the road. Feeling safer and less exposed once she was hidden among the shadows afforded by the resinous boughs, Kierrai began her journey in earnest.

* * *

_Sebastian_

Sebastian inhaled deeply, the oxygen rushing to support his flagging arms. Ignoring the burning in his shoulders, he concentrated on his target. The red, center dot on the dummy that stood across the practice field seemed to expand until it filled his field of vision. Letting out his breath slowly, he released his missile, watching with satisfaction as it stuck, quivering exactly where he had wanted to place it.

He was avoiding his father, who he was _sure_ had a very good idea of what Sebastian had been up to those nights that he was mysteriously absent from dinner. Sebastian had little desire to hear the lecture that he was sure was in store for him, and so fled to the archery practice range that was just across the stream from the estate. Wiping his brow, and looking across the small stream to the rays of sunlight that persisted over the horizon, Sebastian once again was grateful that his grandfather had insisted on this particular location for the archers of the household.

Being removed from the main sparring fields was a stroke of genius – the constant crashing of plate armor, steel against steel, and the intermittent grunts of pain and shouted curses was enough to drive anyone mad after enough hours of listening to it. Smiling, Sebastian remembered the words his grandfather had spoken the first time Sebastian had come to the archery range with him.

"_Lad, archery isn't just a sport or method of fighting. We who wield the bow are removed from the brutish soldiers who slash clumsily at one another, jeering and pushing all the while. Archery is a mindset – a way of life that takes moments to catch hold of your interest, but a lifetime to master."_

Though years had passed since his grandfather had joined the Maker, Sebastian had never forgotten those words. Now, while seeking solitude in the hopes that his father would forget his most recent errors, he enjoyed the bubbling of the stream and the soft chirping of the evening crickets that was just beginning to swell into the symphony that would last until dawn.

Shaking his head, Sebastian returned with reluctance to reality. There was so little light left that seeing the target would soon prove to be impossible. Shouldering his bow, Sebastian dragged his feet as he walked back to the estate.

Dinner that evening was a mostly silent affair, though Sebastian didn't miss the meaningful looks that passed between his parents. Corbinian, as usual, played the part of the model son of a ruling family perfectly, his back straight, and his dark red hair groomed perfectly. His tunic had clearly been freshly laundered and starched by one of the maids, and he ate his food with such painstaking care that Sebastian wondered if he even tasted it.

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian nearly missed his father's comment.

"Sebastian, your mother and I have been considering something, and we'd like for you to be part of the discussion before we make any… official decisions."

_Ah, and here it comes. What's it to be, then? House-arrest? No dessert for the next fortnight?_

"And what might that be, Father?" Sebastian noticed that his brother had ceased eating, a forkful of vegetables lifted halfway to his mouth and forgotten in light of the more interesting exchange unfolding in front of him.

"We have decided that your brother will be officially declared as heir to the Starkhaven throne –" Lord Vael began, but Sebastian's hand waved dismissively to cut him off.

"Yes, yes. We all know that Corbi is the good little prince that the kingdom needs. I'm pretty certain all of your loyal subjects know that by now even _without_ some sort of royal decree." Sebastian shook his head, wondering why his father even felt the need to say this officially. It was no secret in the family that he was the spare – the son with little purpose in the family since Corbinian had grown into exactly the man everyone expected him to be.

Another look passed between his parents, and Sebastian noticed that his mother's blue eyes shone with agitation.

"Oh, is there more to this little story than meets the eye, Mother?" Sebastian asked, one brow raised in question.

"Darling," she began, her musical voice wheedling, "we think that perhaps, once your brother is announced as heir, it might be good for you to strike out on a different path."

Sebastian stared at her. "Mother, in case you haven't noticed, I've rather carved my own path these past years, and that's _without_ your suggestion."

"Yes, yes dear. We know. It's just…" Trailing off, she looked at Sebastian's father for help.

"Son, we know exactly the type of 'path' you've been forging. We've put up with your rebellious wanderings for a good long time, now, but we don't want your… carousing to be a detriment to Corbinian's first years on the throne." Lord Vael's voice was authoritative, and carried the sort of weight that would brook no argument.

Sebastian's heart felt empty. He'd always known he wasn't the favored son, and he didn't even _mind_ knowing that, as he'd never really felt any desire to lead Starkhaven. That his father had laid it before him with such harsh words, though, stung more than a little.

"You want me to leave." It wasn't a question – Sebastian just wondered where he would go now.

"We've actually already found a place we think you'll be very happy, darling," his mother said in a rush. "And you won't be leaving for some time, as arrangements still need to be made once you've agreed with us."

_And the truth comes out – they never meant for my word to carry any weight. They must think it kind to even give me that false hope._

"Hightown in Kirkwall really is quite lovely, and they've cleaned up the city a great deal since our last visit there," she continued.

"Kirkwall?" Sebastian was incredulous – if they thought he got into trouble in Starkhaven, his parents were clearly far more naïve than he thought they were if they thought Kirkwall was a good option. That town was twice as corrupt as Starkhaven and much easier to get lost in!

"More specifically," his father intoned, grey eyes steely, "the Kirkwall Chantry."


End file.
